


barcelona, barcelona

by companions



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Photographer, M/M, Photography
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-01
Updated: 2017-07-01
Packaged: 2020-05-20 14:51:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,925
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19378933
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/companions/pseuds/companions
Summary: Yuuri is a photographer stuck at a crossroads. Viktor is a figure skater desperate for a change.It starts and ends, with the city of Barcelona.





	barcelona, barcelona

_“We crossed spacious streets, with buildings resembling palaces, in La Rambla promenade; the shops were well illuminated and there was movement and life… I did not decide to go to sleep, even though I wished to, so I could rise early and contemplate, in daylight, this city, unknown to me: Barcelona, capital of Catalonia.”_

_—Hans Christian Andersen_

  


The office feels stuffy and hot, even though it’s only mid-March. Yuuri’s sweating in his collared shirt and he desperately hopes that it doesn’t show.

“Sir,” Yuuri says, wiping the palms of his hands across the fabric of his trousers as discreetly as possible. “You wanted to see me?”

His boss gestures to the chair in front of his desk. “Yes, why don’t you sit down?”

When Yuuri’s properly seated, his boss starts to speak.

“How have you been, Yuuri?”

“Good, thank you,” Yuuri answers automatically. “And you, sir?”

“I’ve been well,” his boss says. “Now, I would like to begin by saying that you’ve always been a great employee, and your work as a photographer has been excellent. This is something that the other editors and I have always agreed on.”

Yuuri inhales. On one hand, it doesn’t seem like he’s screwed up irrevocably. On the other, there has to be—

His boss gives him a wan smile. “But,”

—a _but_.

“But I’ve noticed that your work has been—insipid,” Yuuri winces, “as of late.”

“I—” Yuuri begins, then thinks better of it and backtracks. “Thank you, sir, for the compliments. I do admit that my work lately is a little—lacklustre.”

His boss fixes him with a sympathetic look. Yuuri immediately hates it. “You’re a photographer of very high calibre, Yuuri. But you understand, sometimes it’s simply time to seek other options, especially when a professional relationship is no longer mutually beneficial.”

At that, Yuuri’s fingers fists themselves into the seams of his trousers. It sounds like he’s getting fired. He sort of saw this coming, he supposes. There are so many other better photographers out there, ones he can’t hold a candle to.

“Don’t take this the wrong way. I’m not firing you yet,” his boss says. Yuuri catches his gaze, not quite understanding. It had sounded like they were letting him down gently. Apparently not? He’d said _yet_ , though. His boss sighs, probably knowing that Yuuri isn’t following. 

“What I’m saying is, I would like for all my employees to care about what they’re doing here. That’s how quality work is created. Simply put, I don’t want to have someone here who can’t commit to their projects. I would love to have you working with us, but if this continues, we might have a problem.”

 _Ah_ , so that’s what it is. Really, Yuuri should have expected this. But as it is, he’s drawing a blank on what to say. He’d never really thought that he’d get called out on it, even if he knew his weariness must have been showing in the photos he was submitting.

“I—” Yuuri starts, but doesn’t know how to go on from there. “Uh, I mean, I don’t—”

After several moments, he still hasn’t formulated a proper response, and his boss takes pity on him. Yuuri almost wishes he’d stop doing that.

“It’s alright, Yuuri. You’ve never used any of your holiday leaves, have you? Maybe you need to take a few days off. You did a good job on the last issue, all things considered. Perhaps it’s time to take a break.”

  


When the weekend comes, Yuuri sets out to the Thames with his camera.

It’s mid-morning, so the tourist areas should be quite crowded. That’s what Yuuri is aiming for, really. Despite currently doing a job where he is one step above being a paparazzo, he’s always considered himself to be a photojournalist and all his best works usually involve people in some way.

But that’s where the problem lies, right?

Working for a celebrity gossip magazine certainly pays better than some other alternatives. But when the revenue is all that seems to matter to the higher-ups, the reins on him tightens, _and his photos can’t_ —

He cuts that train of thought off before it can fully manifest in his mind. Yuuri resolves not to make any conclusive decisions about his photography (or his career, for that matter) before he even gets off the Tube.

He goes to the London Eye first, trying to catch some tourists, then makes his way across Westminster Bridge.

Yuuri gets home just a little after noon, and takes a minute to look through the photos he’d taken that morning.

A man walking his dog along the embankment, the lines in his face prominent as he smiles down at the girl excitedly petting his dog. Two women brushing shoulders and holding hands as they walk along the bridge, their bright jackets contrasting against the grey of the clouds. A boy sitting on the shoulders of a man, arms outstretched in delight as he points to the looming outline of the Ferris wheel against the sky.

Yuuri looks toward the cluttered surface of his desk, where the latest issue of the magazine is open to where one of his photos is being featured.

He’d photographed some celebrity whose name he can no longer remember at a movie premiere several days ago. The photo looks crisp and professional, the actress’ smile blinding and her body language elegant. But it also looks so, so rehearsed.

 _Like a stock photo_ , Yuuri’s brain supplies. _Not the good ones that make it into articles. The bad ones that people make fun of and make memes with._  

He flips the magazine shut so he doesn’t have to look at it anymore.

 _This job pays well_ , Yuuri reminds himself. _So many people read celebrity gossip magazines, no matter how trashy most of them are. And so what if all the photos are staged? That’s how it works in the entertainment industry. Get over yourself._

Yuuri slowly puts his head down on his desk. He doesn’t know how long he stays like that, but it’s long enough that his back starts to twinge.

He didn’t leave Japan to get a photography degree in the UK just so he can quit his very respectable job at a very respectable magazine not even three years later. 

_But how long can I do this before everything I take really turns into lifeless stock photo memes?_

_This isn’t what I wanted when I dreamed to be a photojournalist._

He sighs and runs a hand through his hair. Maybe it’s time to take that holiday.

  


Two weeks later, Yuuri lands in Spain.

Barcelona is warm in April, the dazzling sunshine and the powder blue of the sky a far cry from the often overcast London. Even as he’s checking in to the hotel room he’s booked for two weeks, Yuuri can’t help but wonder if this trip is a massive waste of time.

He has no plan, no itinerary, no idea what he’s going to be doing for two whole weeks in Barcelona. He’d chosen this city on a whim, on the basis of nothing but good weather, great scenery, and wanting to get out of the UK but not go too far at the same time.

He supposes he could’ve gone to anywhere in western Europe on those conditions. Like France, for example. In fact, maybe France would have been preferable. At least he knows some conversational French.

 _The view from this room is nice, if nothing else,_ he thinks as he sets down his luggage and pushes back the curtains. The ocean is visible on the horizon.

Sighing, Yuuri flops down on the bed and stares up at the ceiling. He could take a nap, he supposes, but he’d slept on the flight and it’s not yet evening. Or he could take advantage of the nice Spanish weather and actually go out like people do on holidays.

Mind made, Yuuri resigns himself to several hours of wandering around the streets of Barcelona with Google Maps open on his phone.

Several hours later, he finds himself sitting on a public bench in a square with some street food after having spent the better part of the afternoon aimlessly roaming around the city, and he still has no idea what he could possibly spend the next two weeks doing. 

 _Maybe this holiday was a bad idea_ , he thinks for the fiftieth time that day and leans back against the bench. With nothing better to do, he begins to people watch.

Barcelona’s a lively city, with people constantly milling about and the colourful shops. His ears catch the rapid exchanges in Spanish as people pass by him, and distantly he hears a band. Idly, he thinks that this would be a good city for photography if only he’d brought his camera along.

When Yuuri refocuses his attention to the public square he’s sitting in again, he notices that a flock of gulls have congregated in the centre. A blond man is approaching the birds, a paper bag in his arms. The man reaches in the bag and produces a loaf of bread, which he tears pieces out of and throws to the birds.

Yuuri takes his phone out of his pocket and goes to the camera app. Not ideal, but it’s the only substitute for the usual camera that he has. He frames the shot and presses the shutter button just as a strong gust of wind sends the gulls taking flight, practically shrouding the blond man in a flurry of wings and feathers.

Yuuri looks down at the picture he’d just taken. The grey and white colouring of the gulls were a blur mid-flight, a haphazard whirlwind of wings and motion. In the middle of it all, the blond man stands caught frozen in time. In the late afternoon sun his blond hair looks practically silver, and Yuuri has managed to catch the exact moment he’d turned and watched the pigeons take off, an expression of the most unadulterated delight on his face.

The photo stirs something inside of him, warm and genuine, and Yuuri is immediately frustrated. It’s ridiculous. This is a photo taken with the camera of a smartphone, the subjects are a stranger and a flock of birds, and so little forethought went into the shot—

—it’s easily the best thing he’s taken in months.

He jams his phone back into his pocket to avoid thinking about it. Disconcerted, he tugs a hand through his hair and sighs.

  


Some hours later, that feeling of agitation still hasn’t left him, which is how Yuuri finds himself at a bar at 8 o’clock.

It’s rather telling, actually, that he’s already drinking not even 24 hours into a holiday that he took in order to run from his problems. He feels like he should be disappointed in himself, or at least his self-control, but he’d really prefer not to think that hard about it.

Yuuri’s just ordered a second drink when he notices someone slide into the stool next to his. Yuuri turns his head to look at his new company when he hears the person order the same thing he’s been drinking.

It’s a man, with hair so blond it looks silver. _That can’t be natural_ , Yuuri thinks distantly as he studies him. He’s well-dressed, looking more put-together in casual wear than Yuuri ever does. 

When the man catches him looking he turns and flashes a smile at Yuuri. It’s friendly and just on this side of flirty. He’s attractive enough, Yuuri supposes.

“ _¿Qué tal?_ ” he asks, and Yuuri shakes his head to indicate that he doesn’t understand.

“English?” the man tries next. Yuuri nods. “Oh, thank God, I can’t speak Spanish either.”

Impossibly, that startles a laugh out of Yuuri. Normally, he doesn’t respond to strangers trying to chat him up until he’s at least halfway tipsy, but there’s something so endearing about the obviously poorly thought out attempt at starting a conversation that Yuuri can’t help but be curious. That whole blond-hair-blue-eyes thing isn’t hurting either, which reminds him—

“Is that your natural hair colour?”

For a moment, the man looks surprised, but then he’s laughing a laugh so genuine that Yuuri almost doesn’t register the response.

“I would say yes, but it’s not like I can prove it, can I?” the man says, bringing his glass up to his grinning lips.

He’s right, of course. So Yuuri asks another question that’s bugging him. “How were you planning on continuing the conversation if I had replied in Spanish?”

The man’s still smiling as he shrugs. “Would have winged it, I guess. Honestly, I hadn’t thought that far ahead. I wasn’t sure you weren’t just going to get up and leave.”

Yuuri has to take a sip from his drink to hide the smile threatening to break out on his face.

The man leans closer, enough that Yuuri can smell the scent of the cologne he must be wearing. “So, where are you from? You don’t sound like a local. Even disregarding the fact that you can’t speak Spanish.”

Yuuri appraises him. “Neither do you.”

The man tilts his head so that his fringe falls away from his eyes, and there’s that smile again, open and edging on coy.

“You’re right, I’m visiting from Russia. It’s the accent, isn’t it?” he jests. 

Yuuri takes another sip of his drink before answering. “I live in the UK, but grew up in Japan.”

“Well, that explains _your_ accent,” the man says. His tone is light when he asks, “Are you in Barcelona on business?”

Yuuri laughs, somewhat sardonically., “More like trying to get away from it.”

It’s a little bit of a surprise when the man says, “What a coincidence, so am I.”

He doesn’t elaborate, and Yuuri doesn’t push. There’s a lull in the conversation as they both finish off their drinks. Yuuri watches him out of the corner of his eye, and finds himself tracking the movement of the man’s smooth, pale throat as he downs his drink.

“What’s your name?” the man’s eyes are blue and scorching when Yuuri meets his gaze. It feels like the mood has shifted somehow, and Yuuri isn’t sure when that happened. “I’m Viktor.”

“Yuuri,” he says, still holding the gaze.

“Well, Yuuri,” Viktor says, leaning against the bar top. Yuuri’s eyes are drawn to where Viktor’s forearm makes contact with the countertop, skin bare where his shirtsleeves have been rolled up. Yuuri looks back up to find that Viktor’s silver fringe has fallen into his face when he asks, “Can I buy you another drink?”

  


Yuuri wakes up feeling awful and confused. But mostly awful. 

For a moment, he can’t remember where he is or what he’s doing there through the headache. But seeing the ocean out the window reminds him that he flew to Barcelona yesterday, and from the size of the headache he has right now he’s definitely done something that he regrets.

 _Am I naked?_ he wonders before sitting up and realising that he’s got underwear on. He feels around for his glasses and thankfully finds them safe and folded by his pillow. Putting them on, he glances around the room and frowns. It’s a mess. There’s half a bottle of champagne on its side on the small table, the floor lamp by the TV is lying on the ground, there’s clothing all over the floor and various pieces of furniture, and—is that a pile of euro notes by his trousers?

 _What happened last night?_  

Yuuri notices a glass of water and some aspirin on the bedside table, and silently thanks whichever higher being that allowed him to possess such forethought last night. He gratefully downs both the water and the pills.

He’s setting the glass back down on the bedside table when movement to his left startles him. He watches in horror as the duvet shifts to reveal a man in bed next to him. A man he recognises.

The memories come rushing back. Drinking at the bar. Meeting Viktor at that bar, and the conversation they had. Viktor buying him a drink. The decision to go bar hopping. Yuuri buying _himself_ drinks at the next three bars they went to. At least, he only remembers three. It was probably more.

Viktor doesn’t seem to be wearing a shirt, and Yuuri can’t remember how that came to be. Yuuri doesn’t _think_ they did anything last night, but given that he can’t remember a good portion of it, he’s not sure if that’s conclusive knowledge at all.

“What time is it?”

Yuuri jumps, he hadn’t realised Viktor was awake. He scrambles for his phone. “Uh, almost half past noon.”

Viktor groans and sits up. Leans against the headboard and runs his fingers through his mussed-up hair. Yuuri watches him do this for a few moments before asking, “Did we—do anything? Last night? I don’t remember much.”

Viktor looks at him and Yuuri feels himself blushing. Viktor drops his hand from his head and says, “No, we didn’t. You were so drunk you could barely stand up straight.”

Yuuri feels his face heat again, this time for another reason. He knows himself well enough to know that if he was that drunk, there’s _no way_ he hadn’t tried to come on to Viktor. He’s suddenly incredibly glad to know that Viktor had turned him down. 

“Sorry, I know I’m not a great drunk,” Yuuri mutters.

Impossibly, Viktor’s face breaks out into a smile at that. “Not at all! I had a lot of fun, and I was sober for the majority of the night. You know, you’re such a great dancer, and a well-versed one too! By the way, that pile of cash is yours. You earned it at the last bar we went to. I was very impressed, anyone who can pole dance while drunk has my utmost respect.”

Yuuri buries his face in his hands and groans. He hears Viktor laughing, a clear and mellifluous sound. Yuuri remembers hearing it at the bar last night, and idly comes to the conclusion that laughing is something Viktor should do more.

Eventually, they get out of bed and attempt to do some cleanup. Yuuri discovers that Viktor was wearing trousers under the sheets ( _“I took off my shirt because you spilled champagne on it_ ”). 

Viktor’s vibrant for someone having just woken up. He’s chattering as they clean up the champagne and right the lamp, making jokes and asking Yuuri way more questions than he thinks being one-night comrades in bar hopping warrants. Strangely, it doesn’t irritate him, even in his currently hangover-addled state.

Yuuri wonders if Viktor is always like this in the mornings. Granted, it’s past noon, but then again there’s no way to tell how late they were out last night.

And while this whole situation is more than a little embarrassing, Yuuri is quite honestly just glad that he made it back to the hotel and isn’t passed out in a back alley somewhere. Not for the first time that morning, Yuuri feels a spike of gratitude for Viktor and how genuinely kind he seems.

He voices this sentiment to Viktor when everything is more or less back in place and Viktor is gathering his things.

“Oh, it was no problem at all. I mean, it definitely took some effort to figure out where you were staying and how to get there, but I wasn’t joking when I said I had fun!” Viktor’s smile is too bright, Yuuri thinks, for someone who’s talking about how he spent the whole night chaperoning a drunk stranger in a foreign city.

Yuuri feels the words have an effect on him anyway. For a moment, it feels like his stomach is lurching, and it’s not because he’s about to throw up.

They’re standing at the door now, and inexplicably, Yuuri doesn’t really want Viktor to leave. While getting blackout drunk with a stranger on his first night in Barcelona isn’t exactly how he planned on starting this holiday, he’s actually kind of glad he did. Although Yuuri had originally projected this getaway to be a solitary two weeks where he wastes a lot of time and money trying to get out of thinking about his career, being alone suddenly seems like a lot less welcome prospect.

Viktor was so nice, and charming and attractive. He’s also leaving, right now. Technically, they’re just strangers, but—and he’s probably crazy for thinking this—he sort of wants to change that.

But Yuuri also doesn’t want to make this any more awkward than it already is, and he _definitely_ doesn’t want to saddle Viktor with himself any longer than he has to after the catastrophe last night. So he simply thanks Viktor once again, bids him goodbye and moves to close the door.

The door’s not completely shut when he hears a hurried: “Wait!”

Yuuri nearly clocks himself in the nose trying to get the door back open. “What?”

“Do you—I mean, would you possibly want to do something? Tomorrow?” Viktor’s tone sort of reminds him of the way Yuuko used to ask him to go to the park when they were kids.

“Do what?” Yuuri asks, stupidly.

“Anything. Maybe get something to eat? Or sightseeing? It’s your first time in Barcelona, right?”

Yuuri doesn’t remember telling Viktor that. He wonders if maybe he said it while he was drunk last night. 

But that doesn’t matter. What does matter is that Viktor doesn’t seem to be ready to leave, at least not for good. And isn’t this what Yuuri wanted?

“Okay,” Yuuri casts his gaze down onto the floor, feeling a small smile tugging at his lips, “let’s go sightseeing tomorrow.”

  


They agree to meet in the lobby of Yuuri’s hotel the next morning. When Yuuri gets down at 10 o’clock, it’s to find Viktor already seated on one of the couches by the entryway, as well-dressed as he had been the first time Yuuri saw him. He suspects that Viktor is just the type of person who always looks like he might get spotted by the paparazzi. 

At the sight of Yuuri, Viktor springs up from his seat and bounds across the lobby with a paper bag.

“Good morning, Yuuri! I brought you something!” he beams and holds out the bag. 

“You didn’t have to!” Yuuri immediately says. “I mean, it’s really kind of you though.”

He takes the proffered bag and opens it to find a pastry inside. While he’s not very sure why Viktor is giving him a pastry at all, he’s weirdly touched by it.

“I should pay you back,” Yuuri says out loud.

“Nonsense. Think of it as my treat,” Viktor says.

Yuuri clutches the bag. It’s still warm. “Thank you.”

Viktor’s mouth tilts up. “It’s nothing.”

They walk out of the hotel and set out in a direction, with Yuuri following Viktor because he trusts that Viktor knows where he’s going.

(“Let’s go to Montjuïc first. We’ll take the metro. Trust me, I know what I’m doing. Google Maps is a very good friend of mine,” Viktor reassured him.)

While they walked to the metro station, Yuuri takes out the pastry Viktor had bought for him. He actually hadn’t eaten breakfast and had been hoping to wait until lunch, which is a bad idea in hindsight and makes him all the more grateful for Viktor’s little present.

“This is good,” Yuuri says around a mouthful, “what is it?”

Viktor shrugs. “I’m not very sure. I didn’t recognise the name and I just asked for what the shop clerk recommended. But I’m glad to hear that it’s good!”

“How do you ask for things like that without being able to speak Spanish?” Yuuri asks, genuinely mystified.

“I know a _little_ conversational Spanish,” Viktor says. A pause. “It’s really mostly English and a lot of pantomiming, though. Sometimes I throw in some French, too.”

Yuuri smothers a laugh by cramming the remaining of the pastry into his mouth. There’s an amusing scenario.

Once they’re on the metro to Montjuïc, Viktor asks, “What do you think of Barcelona so far? Does it live up to your expectations?”

“The only expectations I had of Barcelona was nice weather, so yeah,” Yuuri replies.

It gets him a grin from Viktor. “It’s certainly nice and sunny here in Spain, right? Wish I could say the same for Saint Petersburg.”

“But maybe if you lived in Spain you’d want to go somewhere cold for once and see snow,” Yuuri says.

Viktor wrinkles his nose, a fascinating gesture that immediately makes him appear younger. “Now that’s something that definitely gets old with time.”

“Really?” Yuuri wonders out loud.

“When it’s winter six months out of twelve, it’s hard to appreciate being cold and wet every time you go out,” Viktor says with a mock-serious expression. “Not to mention, snow is a nightmare to get out of dog fur.”

Yuuri straightens up. “Do you have a dog?”

“Yes!” Viktor beams. Yuuri can’t help but wonder if this man is real. “Do you want to see?”

Yuuri agrees enthusiastically. Dogs have always been a soft spot of his, and he’d wanted one as a child but never found a good enough reason to ask for it. It had seemed impractical, having a dog while living in an inn.

Viktor scoots closer on the plastic seat until their elbows and knees are bumping and opens the photo gallery on his phone.

There’s over one thousand photos and videos of Viktor’s dog on his phone, which Yuuri finds both impressive and endearing. They spend the rest of the metro ride looking through the album and don’t even get through a quarter of it.

Montjuïc is already teeming with people when they arrive. Viktor tells him that it’s even worse during the evening.

“It’s when they do the light shows and music,” he explains.

“What kind of light shows can they do here? I thought this was a museum,” Yuuri says.

Viktor gestures somewhere behind him in reply, and Yuuri turns to see a huge fountain spraying jets of water into the air.

“They call it the Magic Fountain, and they have entertainment and shows here at night. The museum is just up the steps behind it,” Viktor says.

“Oh,” Yuuri says. They begin making their way to the entrance. A thought suddenly strikes him, and he shoots Viktor and inquisitive look. “Have you been to Barcelona before? You seem to know a lot about this stuff.”

Viktor laughs, and Yuuri frowns. It sounds off. Was it something he said?

“Once, for work.” Viktor’s tone is breezy. 

Yuuri decides not to ask about that. “If you’ve been here before, why come again for holiday? I would’ve gone somewhere I’ve never been before. That way it’ll feel like a real adventure.”

“Adventure? That’s an interesting way of putting it,” Viktor says, bemused. “Besides, what if I just liked this city?”

“That’s fair, I guess,” Yuuri replies. “Still, though.”

Viktor’s silent for a moment while they approach the steps that lead up to the art museum.

“I suppose you have a point,” he says eventually when they’re halfway up. “If I was going to just take a trip to somewhere I’ve visited before, I might as well have gone to France. At least I know how to speak the language there.”

And Yuuri can’t help it—he bursts into laughter. 

“What is it?” Viktor sounds confused. 

“It’s nothing, really,” Yuuri gets out. “It’s—It’s just—you know, I thought that exact same thing.”

And it really wasn’t that funny, but the smile on Yuuri’s face won’t go away. 

When he looks up again, he sees Viktor staring at him.

“What?” he says, a little self-conscious now.

Viktor gives an almost imperceptible shake of his head, a slow smile overtaking his face. “It’s nothing,” he echoes.  

He strides past Yuuri to hold open the door to the entrance of the museum.

“Well,” Viktor gestures with a theatrical sweep of his arm, “shall we?”

  


They spend the next several hours wandering through the exhibits. The art is very nice, but Yuuri can’t really appreciate it too much when his artistic knowledge is close to zero on everything outside of photography and dance.

It seems that Viktor can’t either, because they’re only in the second exhibit before he starts coming up with ridiculous stories for each of the art pieces.

“Look, Yuuri,” Viktor says in the midst of a bunch of Renaissance and Baroque paintings. “Doesn’t that one look like a bunch of guys helping their friend get to bed after he got drunk? And see, the friend is making it as difficult as possible, probably because he hasn’t gotten laid that night yet and the guys are in the way of him getting some.”

Yuuri looks, and struggles to keep a straight face while he appraises the otherwise solemn painting.

Apparently Viktor doesn’t have the same concerns, because he’s grinning when Yuuri turns back to him.

Giving in, Yuuri shoves Viktor in the shoulder and laughs under his breath. “You’re terrible.”

Twenty minutes later, they’re in a section with a lot of sculptures, and Viktor is buzzing with an excitement that hadn’t been present throughout the previous exhibits.

“I like sculptures,” Viktor whispers to him conspiratorially, “especially marble ones. I have a marble bust collection.”

Yuuri can’t help the incredulous tone that creeps into his voice. “ _What_?”

“Okay, I only have two, so it’s not really a collection,” Viktor says. “But I hope to have one someday.”

Yuuri starts laughing, which means Viktor starts laughing, and soon the other patrons in the exhibit send glares his way. They make a prompt exit after that.

“That was an enlightening experience,” Yuuri says when they’re standing outside the front doors of the museum and looking down the steps that lead to the fountain.

“I can’t tell if that’s sarcasm,” Viktor replies.

Yuuri smiles. “It’s up for interpretation.”

Viktor’s answering laugh is way too loud and bright for something that was barely a joke, but Yuuri finds himself preening anyway.

“Come on,” Viktor says eventually. He also reaches down to take Yuuri by the hand, which makes Yuuri’s heart trip over itself in his chest. “Are you hungry? There are some great restaurants for lunch on this hill.”

  


After lunch, Viktor suggests they go to La Pedrera, where they could look at more art. 

“Is going to art galleries how you impress everyone you meet?” Yuuri jokes.

It seems that Viktor doesn’t catch the light-hearted tone of the question though, because he whips around and says, “That’s not all there is to see! I’ll take you to La Rambla tomorrow, it’s this really nice street with lots of shops and restaurants, and we still haven’t seen the Magic Fountain show—”

Yuuri laughs, cutting Viktor off. “I was just kidding, it’s not really a complaint.”

“Oh,” Viktor says. “Although, maybe it’s a good idea not to go. We have already spent the morning looking at art. How do you feel about shopping? There’s a mall nearby.”

Having no particular objections either way, Yuuri agrees. 

Arenas de Barcelona is a huge shopping complex with so many shops Yuuri could never hope to visit them all before the sun went down. It’s not really a problem for someone who’s not very into shopping to begin with, like Yuuri, but he soon figures out that it’s definitely one for Viktor.

Well, perhaps _problem_ isn’t really the right word for it. _Enabler_ is probably more fitting.

Yuuri learns that Viktor is somewhat of a compulsive shopper, if the amount of money he throws around are any indication. It makes Yuuri wonder what kind of job Viktor has that allows him to hand over his credit cards without even looking at the price tags.

“Is there anything you want?” Viktor asks when the cashier hands him his sixth bag of purchases that afternoon. “I can buy you something.”

“Ah, no thank you,” Yuuri says immediately. “There isn’t anything in particular that I need.”

Viktor cocks his head. “You’re sure?”

Yuuri assures Viktor that he doesn’t need—or want—anything at all, and even if he did, he’d buy it himself, thank you. It’s not a lie. An hour later, and the only thing he’d gotten his wallet out for was a smoothie.

He’s sipping his smoothie when he notices Viktor struggling with the many bags and offers to carry them for him.

Yuuri has to smother a smile when Viktor hands him half the bags with a radiant grin and profuse _thank-you_ ’s. 

Eventually, they make it up to the rooftop terrace, which Viktor informs him is the main reason tourists visit this mall.

Yuuri understands as soon as he sees the views from the top. In the distance, he sees the museum and square they were just at. After a brief internal debate, he gets out his phone to snap a few photos.

For all his earlier enthusiasm, Viktor’s been strangely quiet since they got onto the terrace. When Yuuri looks over, he appears to be lost in thought, a small furrow in between his brows.

He walks up beside Viktor to lean slightly on the railing. When he notices his presence, Viktor gives him a smile.

“Nice view, right?” he asks. Yuuri hums an agreement.

Viktor turns back to peruse the Barcelona cityscape. In the silence that follows, Yuuri studies Viktor’s profile in the late afternoon light. 

“Did you mean it? When you said you would take me to that street and the fountain tomorrow?”

He’s watching Viktor out of the corner of his eye. Viktor looks a little startled, at first, then turns to face him fully. Yuuri follows suit.

“Of course,” Viktor says. Then his eyes dart away from Yuuri’s face. “Only—Only if you want to.”

Yuuri ducks his head down to hide the smile threatening to take over his face. “Okay.”

“Yeah?”

Yuuri’s immediately again reminded of kids asking each other to play. He has to bite his lip to contain his laughter. God, they’re ridiculous, aren’t they?

He doesn’t try and hide his smile this time when he says, “Yeah.”

  


“How long are you in Barcelona for?”

It’s Saturday, and they’re having breakfast at a sidewalk café near La Rambla. As promised, Viktor did take Yuuri to the renowned street and fountain show yesterday. They’d spent nearly the half the day just walking up and down the street, the large variety of different shops and street entertainment keeping them occupied. 

“For two weeks. How about you?” Yuuri asks before taking a sip of his coffee.

“Oh, I’m here until whenever I feel like,” Viktor answers, which makes Yuuri’s eyebrows raise.

“What about your job?” Yuuri asks.

Viktor waves a hand. “I have a flexible schedule. I told them I needed a break to figure some stuff out. Fortunately for me and unfortunately for them, I more or less work for myself so they can’t really say no to me.”

“Huh,” Yuuri says, taking another sip from his coffee. “That must be nice, seems like you get a lot of freedom.”

Viktor chuckles. “Not really, actually.”

Before Yuuri can ask what that means, Viktor continues with, “Anyway, we haven’t gone to the Sagrada Familia yet! We must go, what kind of tourists would we be if we didn’t?”

This is how Yuuri finds himself at Barcelona’s most famous landmark 45 minutes later. It’s a weekend, which means that it’s teeming with people.

The Sagrada Familia is definitely one impressive feat of architecture, that much is obvious at first glance. The inside is even more amazing, the high archways and intricate stonework elegant and artistic. Just standing it makes Yuuri feel small and unworthy somehow.

Viktor is different, though. As they tour around the inside of the massive church, Yuuri can’t help but think that unlike himself, Viktor naturally has a presence that’s so large it easily commands the attention of everyone in the room. He looks like he’d belong in a place so grand and exquisite.

Beside him, Viktor _ooh'_ s and _ah'_ s at everything like a model tourist.

“Imagine coming here every week,” Yuuri says as they’re admiring the stained glass windows.

Viktor’s silent for a moment. When he does speak, it’s quiet and Yuuri almost doesn’t hear. “I think you’d get tired of seeing a spectacle if you see it too often. The novelty wears off.”

Yuuri turns his head to watch Viktor admire the stunning interior of the church. The dappled light coming through the stained glass windows sends a multitude of colours cascading onto Viktor. Yuuri can’t imagine ever growing tired of seeing a sight like this.

Privately, Yuuri thinks that if he was able to capture the way Viktor looks standing underneath all the stained glass windows in a photo, he’d probably have to immediately retire from photography permanently. There’s just no way he’d ever be able to take anything as mesmeric as this ever again.

When Yuuri doesn’t reply to what he’d said, Viktor turns around to look at him. Yuuri’s not sure what expression Viktor sees on his face.

“What are you thinking about?” Viktor asks.

Yuuri bites back the instinctive _you_ that threatens to make it out of his mouth. “Just—my camera. I was thinking about how I wish I had my camera with me.”

Viktor cocks his head to one side. “Why not just use your phone?”

“Ah—” Yuuri waves a hand. “I don’t like to use my phone camera for photos that matter a lot. The quality is better with my actual camera, and I have more control over how the photo comes out.”

“Oh,” Viktor says. “Are you a photographer?”

Several different answers run through Yuuri’s head. _Yes. No. Sort of. Only recreationally. I do photojournalism for a living._

_Yes, but maybe not for much longer?_

In the end, he says, “I guess.”

Which is the safest answer, really. It’s not a lie and it’s very vague.

Viktor says something that he doesn’t hear. It’s only when Yuuri notices Viktor staring at him that he realises he’s supposed to answer.

“Sorry, can you repeat that? I was distracted.”

Viktor levels him with a look that Yuuri can’t pinpoint. It looks thoughtful, maybe. Assessing. Yuuri turns his gaze to the ground so he doesn’t have to face it head-on.

Eventually, Viktor says, “It’s alright, it wasn’t important.

Yuuri’s about to protest when Viktor holds up something for him to see. It’s Viktor’s phone, and it’s opened to the front-facing camera on the camera app.

“Hey, you know, there’s one thing phone cameras are good for,” Viktor says. “Take a selfie with me? For commemoration.”

When Yuuri looks at him, he almost doesn’t recognise the expression on Viktor’s face. It’s softer than anything he’s seen before and it catches Yuuri so off-guard he almost doesn’t manage to process the request.

Yuuri feels a small but inexorable smile make its way onto his face. “Yeah, okay.”

So Viktor throws his arm around Yuuri and pulls him close and holds up his phone to take the picture.

In the split second before the camera shutter noise sounds, Yuuri feels Viktor’s arm tighten his hold where it’s wrapped around his waist.

  


They get lost in the metro on the way to lunch.

“How is it that this is happening when we’ve been riding the metro for almost a week?” Yuuri says incredulously.

Viktor frowns from where he’s studying the map on the wall intently. “I don’t know, but I think we got off at the wrong station. Or maybe we weren’t going in the right direction to begin with? Let’s try another platform, this must not be the right one.”

Ten minutes later, they still haven’t figured out where they’re going, and Yuuri is starting to freak out.

Objectively, he knows that this is normal. They’re just tourists, they don’t know the area well, it was bound to happen. But the problem is precisely that they’re tourists and don’t know the area well. Hell, they don’t even speak the _language_.

They’re lost in Barcelona and they can’t ask for help because nobody will understand them, they might be stranded at this metro station with no way of getting back. God, they don’t speak the language, who knows how long they’ll be wandering—

It’s at this point that Yuuri realises that he’s stopped walking and has completely lost Viktor in the crowd.

The panic doubles. He’s alone in a strange city, and the only person he knows is gone. He hadn’t realised how reliant he’s become on Viktor’s presence these past few days.

Yuuri doesn’t know how long he stands there, not moving. He’s busy keeping his breathing regulated so he doesn’t send himself into a full-blown panic attack.

Minutes, or maybe just seconds later, he feels someone grab his shirtsleeve.

The intensity of the relief Yuuri feels when he turns to see Viktor is so overwhelming that he feels dizzy from it.

“Yuuri! I lost you for a second, thank God you were still here!”

Viktor lets go of Yuuri’s sleeve, and on a whim Yuuri reaches out to grab his hand. Even though Yuuri’s mostly calmer now, being able to feel Viktor’s presence is grounding him in his receding anxiety.

Yuuri doesn’t do anything for a moment but tighten his grip on Viktor’s hand. After a second, Viktor speaks, his voice so soft Yuuri has to strain to hear it over the din of the station.

“Hey, are you okay?”

“I—” Yuuri starts, but doesn’t know how to finish the sentence. So instead, he says, “Can we get out of here for a little?”

And immediately feels bad about it because they were supposed to be going somewhere, and leaving the metro station is definitely not going to help them find the way there. Yuuri’s ruining this for Viktor because he can’t get his fucking anxiety under control.

He’s about to apologise when Viktor says, “Yeah, of course. Let’s find somewhere to sit down.”

Viktor begins to lead him out the metro station, and all Yuuri can do is follow him. He’s afraid they’ll have to let go once they’re out on the street again, but all Viktor does is readjust their grip so they can hold hands more easily. 

They end up at a coffee shop close to the station and get a seat by the window. 

“I’m going to get something to drink. Do you want some tea?” Viktor asks once Yuuri sits down.

Yuuri nods, because tea does sound nice. When Viktor comes back, he holds out the paper cup with a smile.

“My treat,” he says.

There’s a warm feeling in his chest like the warmth of the tea that Viktor bought. Yuuri accepts the cup gratefully and Viktor takes the seat across from him. They don’t talk as they sit and sip their drinks.

Yuuri loses track of time, silently sitting across from Viktor in a sunny coffee shop in Barcelona. He uses the time to study Viktor; the way his fingers curl around his cup, the fall of his fringe, the lean of his body against the wooden back of the chair.

 _There’s so much grace and power in his body, but there’s so much life in him,_ Yuuri thinks as he watches the way Viktor’s whole face lights up when a woman and a poodle pass by the window.

Yuuri thinks, _If I could photograph someone like him every day, every single photo would be brimming with vivacity._

When Yuuri finishes his tea, he says, “Let’s head to the restaurant now.”

“Are you sure?” Viktor asks. “We don’t have to. We can just head back.”

“No, I want to go,” Yuuri says, because it’s true. He does want to go, and it’s only early afternoon, so they have plenty of time.

Viktor smiles at him. “Okay, we’ll go.”

They’re back out on the street before Yuuri remembers that they’re still technically lost, and therefore don’t know which direction they need to be heading in. He goes to raise this concern to Viktor, but before he can do that Viktor’s already calling out to a passing man.

Yuuri watches in fascination as Viktor and the man proceed to engage in a conversation comprised of Spanish, English, a couple words of French and charades. It seems that Viktor’s asking for directions and not giving two shits about the language barrier.

Yuuri suddenly remembers a conversation they had on the first day they went sightseeing together.

“ _I know a_ little _conversational Spanish…_ _It’s mostly a mix of using French, English and a lot of pantomiming_.”

It seems that Viktor hadn’t been exaggerating. When Viktor comes back, Yuuri asks, “Did you actually manage to understand each other?”

Viktor nods. “Oh yeah! Most of the locals don’t mind helping out. He gave me directions, so I know for sure how to get there now. I think we got on the wrong line last time. Let’s go!”

Viktor holds out his arm, and Yuuri only hesitates a little before latching on to it and starting back towards the metro station. His cheeks heat up at the brilliant smile Viktor sends his way, and they stay linked together like that the rest of the way.

  


“What is that?” says Yuuri the next day when he meets up with Viktor outside his hotel.

Viktor grins and holds the small bag out to him. “It’s a gift!”

Immediately, Yuuri holds up his hands and makes to push the bag back. “Oh, I don’t need any gifts, just being with you is more than enough.”

Then Viktor’s ears are blooming red and Yuuri’s eyes widen when he takes in what he said.

“I didn’t mean to say that! I mean, not that I didn’t mean it—because I did, it’s true, you’re wonderful—who wouldn’t want to spend time with you? Shit, I just didn’t mean to say that out loud—okay, I’m going to shut up now.” Yuuri clamps his mouth shut and firmly avoids eye contact with Viktor.

“Um,” Viktor says, and Yuuri looks up to see that Viktor’s not looking at him either. He holds the bag out to Yuuri once more. “For you, please. It’s not anything big, I promise. I just thought it would be something fun.”

Viktor’s still blushing and Yuuri almost has to do a double-take. He’s never seen Viktor look this flustered, and he doesn’t know what to do. So he just thanks Viktor and takes the bag to avoid any more awkward moments.

When Yuuri takes the item out of the bag, he stares at it for a moment, almost unbelieving. He can’t believe Viktor bought this unironically. Yuuri had spent practically an entire day watching him buy out the most expensive shops in Barcelona not two days ago.

Turning it over in his hands, Yuuri says, “It’s a disposable camera.”

“Yeah,” Viktor says, “I picked it up at a gift shop when I saw it. You like photography, right?”

Yuuri glances at Viktor, puzzled. For one, he doesn’t know when Viktor had the time to visit a gift shop. For another, he can’t quite believe Viktor bought this disposable camera just because Yuuri mentioned he does photography. And while there’s no way for Viktor to know this, there’s a reason he didn’t bring any of his cameras with him on holiday.

“Thank you,” he eventually says. “That’s really thoughtful of you.”

Viktor smiles. “I thought that it would be fun because it’s sort of tourist-y, and we’ve barely taken any pictures at all so far. Maybe we can take some today?”

“Yeah, sure,” Yuuri says, because why not? Viktor’s already gone through the trouble of buying this for him, they might as well. Besides, despite everything, he _has_ missed photography. Having a camera feels right again, even if it’s not quite the same with this disposable one.

“Great!” Viktor says brightly. He reaches over to grab Yuuri’s hand and Yuuri lets him, because it feels like the most natural thing in the world. “Let’s go to the amusement park today!”

Yuuri has never particularly liked amusement parks, but he finds himself looking forward to it now, with Viktor.

“Okay,” he says, and lets himself get dragged along.

  


The Tibidabo amusement park is situated on a mountain overlooking Barcelona. The city looks sprawling and expansive from this height, and the Mediterranean Sea is blue and visible against the horizon.

Once there, Viktor insists that they go on the tallest ride there is, bounces in excitement the whole time they’re waiting in the queue, spends the entirety of the ride whooping hysterically and stopping the circulation in Yuuri’s hand, then looks for the next ride to begin the cycle all over again.

“Why do you do this?” Yuuri wonders after they’ve exhausted the small selection of rides.

Viktor, all windswept hair and flushed cheeks, turns to him and says, “I don’t get to do this often!”

“Do what? Go to the amusement park?”

Viktor shakes his head. Yuuri, still holding Viktor’s hand, feels Viktor’s thumb stroke gently across his knuckles. It makes his insides feel all warm, in a way that even the Mediterranean sunshine can’t achieve.

“Let go,” Viktor says. “Feel.”

Several emotions go through Yuuri at once. First, shock, that the reason Viktor is treating amusement park rides like marvels is because he doesn’t get to let go often. Then, sadness. Someone like Viktor shouldn’t have to feel this way. This then segues nicely into a rush of protectiveness that Yuuri doesn’t expect to feel, and he finds himself tightening his grip on Viktor’s hand.

“Have you ever been on a merry-go-round?” Yuuri asks.

“I don’t think so,” Viktor says. “Maybe once, when I was very young.”

And so Yuuri pulls Viktor towards the merry-go-round with a grin on his lips and watches as Viktor makes a big deal out of which painted horse he was going to ride. 

The expression on Viktor’s face as the circus music starts to play and the ride starts to spin is so chock full of raw and genuine delight that Yuuri feels like he’ll be kicking himself forever if he doesn’t manage to capture it.

It’s a bit of a realisation to remember that he _can_ , right now, he has the ability to with the disposable camera. Yuuri fumbles for it in the small satchel bag where he knows he put it earlier.

He calls out to Viktor. When he turns around, Yuuri holds up the camera, and Viktor _beams_. Yuuri feels his heart wedge in his throat as he presses down on the shutter button.

Once he starts taking photos of Viktor, he finds that he can’t stop. More like, he doesn’t _want_ to stop, and it’s such a different feeling from how he normally feels with a camera in his hands that he chases it, thrives on it, yearns for it.

Viktor, eyes sparkling, hair ruffled by the breeze. Viktor, the shapes of words on his lips, cheeks flushed and looking _alive_. Viktor, mid-laugh, the city of Barcelona a blur behind him as the merry-go-round spins, and spins, and spins.

They go on the Ferris wheel next, where pretty much all of Barcelona is visible from the pods. Yuuri thinks he takes as many shots of the view as he does of Viktor admiring the view.

And Viktor takes it all in stride, sometimes giving Yuuri candid shots by ignoring the camera, sometimes posing for it almost theatrically.

It’s when they’re on the observation deck, sharing an ice cream cone and leaning against the railing overlooking the city that Yuuri brings it up.

“I took a lot of pictures of you, but I should have asked first. Are you okay with it? I can throw the camera away if you want.”

They’re standing close enough that Yuuri feels it when Viktor shifts in surprise at the question.

“No, I don’t mind,” Viktor says. “It feels different, when you’re the one photographing me. I like it. It’s fun.”

He passes the ice cream to Yuuri, who absentmindedly takes a bite while he ponders that answer. Does Viktor get photographed often? In any case, he’s glad Viktor doesn’t mind, because it’s been so long since he’s had fun taking pictures.

“It feels different too, when you’re the one I’m photographing,” Yuuri replies. But then he thinks about that statement, _really_ thinks about it, and has to smother his snicker. He has to hand the ice cream back to Viktor so he doesn’t drop it.

“What?” Viktor asks, but he sounds amused.

“That was—that was so cheesy,” Yuuri says, still laughing. “Like a bad romance movie.”

Viktor pouts, but Yuuri can see the edges of his eyes crinkle like they do when Viktor smiles. “Well, I thought it was romantic!”

“Maybe—Maybe just a little bit,” Yuuri relents. The ice cream cone is mostly melted in Viktor’s hand. But they had eaten most of it anyway, so at least it’s not making much of a mess.

Viktor’s mouth would taste like that ice cream cone right now.

“Yeah?” Viktor says with a giddy grin, turning so that he’s facing Yuuri.

They’re standing so close that Yuuri barely has to lean forward to press his smile into Viktor’s shoulder when he says, “Yeah.”

  


The next few hours were the most surreal ones in all of Yuuri’s life.

Not once in Yuuri’s life did he ever think that he’d ever spend an afternoon running around Barcelona filling a disposable camera with memories of a man he’d met in a bar.

Years down the road, Yuuri will look back on this afternoon with the kind of fondness reserved for only the most precious of recollections.

But now, living in the moment, all Yuuri can focus on is how standing amidst the beautiful sprawl of the city under the warm April sun, Viktor looks like something straight out of a work of art that Yuuri can never hope to do justice to with his photography.

But fuck if he isn’t going to _try_.

Viktor treats the whole thing like an overly long and casual photoshoot. He tries to pull Yuuri into the shots more than a few times, and has to be reminded that you can’t really take selfies on disposable cameras.

They end up sitting in one of the squares by the time the sun is just starting to set. There’s a flock of pigeons in the centre of the square. Yuuri experiences a strange sort of displacement in time.

Viktor’s side is warm where they’re pressed together. If Yuuri turns his head a little he can smell the cologne on Viktor’s collar, and the scent makes him heady.

“Thank you,” Yuuri says into the fabric of Viktor’s shirt. It’s been on his mind for a while, and he wants to get it out there sooner than later.

Viktor turns his head so that his lips are in Yuuri’s hair when he replies, “What for?”

“Lots of things. But I guess I was thinking about the disposable camera you got me. Or disposable cameras, plural.”

Viktor chuckles, and Yuuri smiles too despite himself. Sometime during the afternoon they had run out of exposures on the first camera, and in response Viktor had dragged them to a gift shop in a tourist district and bought out the entire shelf of disposable cameras, to Yuuri’s horror.

After a moment, Yuuri continues. “Seriously, though. I hadn’t brought any of my cameras with me on this trip because thinking about photography reminded me of work, which stressed me out. I never really know what to do without photography though, so I was missing it pretty badly. 

“It might actually be a good thing that you got me a disposable camera, of all things, because I don’t have to worry about all the technical stuff when I’m using it. I couldn’t if I wanted to, anyway.” Yuuri realises that he’s rambling a bit, so he quickly tacks on, “So yeah, thanks.”

Viktor doesn’t say anything for a while, and Yuuri wonders if maybe he shouldn’t have said anything at all. But then he feels Viktor’s arm come to rest on his shoulders, and manages to relax marginally.

“You like taking pictures, right?” Viktor asks.

“I mean, yeah.” Despite himself, Yuuri can feel a small smile forming on his lips. “What I like about photos is that they say so much with so little. A photograph is just a single moment in time, yet it tells a whole story. Plus, it might be one of the only things I’m good at.”

“I know that’s not true,” Viktor says, rather seriously.

“How would you know? You’ve never even seen my photography, let alone any other hidden talents I may or may not have,” Yuuri jokes.

“I know because there’s no way someone who so clearly loves what they do could ever produce anything that’s not beautiful,” Viktor says, and it takes Yuuri completely by surprise.

No one’s ever complimented his work on the basis of his passion for it before. It’s always how _artistic_ his photos look or how _pretty_ the shot is. How much he loves what he does has never factored into how much other people like his pictures.

Unbidden, his photos in the last issue of the magazine comes to mind. Would Viktor still say that, if he saw the photos he’d been taking up until recently? The ones of celebrities with plastic smiles and fabricated images?

_But were you happy with them? Did you love them like you loved the photos you took today?_

It’s somewhat of a heavy realisation.

Yuuri must’ve been silent for too long, because he feels the hand that had been resting on his shoulder lift up to rest on the back of his head instead.

“Do you want to get something to eat? I saw this seafood restaurant we could try.” Viktor’s voice is soft.

Yuuri pulls back so they’re looking at each other. Automatically, his hand finds Viktor’s. “Okay, let’s go.”

  


Dinner is somewhat of an event, as most things are with Viktor.

When they get to the restaurant, Viktor makes a big show out of pulling Yuuri’s chair out for him. He then proceeds to forget the word _lobster_ in English while ordering, and instead gestures wildly for several moments before looking to Yuuri and says, very seriously, “You know, the big bad shrimp?”

It takes a moment for Yuuri to understand what Viktor is getting at, and when he finally realises, he laughs until he cries before he manages to gasp out their lobster order. Viktor starts to laugh too midway through ordering wine, and by the time their very confused waiter leaves they’re both collapsed on the table from laughter.

They don’t really calm down again after that.

It’s like some sort of weird emotional high—all Yuuri can focus on is how good Viktor looks in the restaurant lighting, how being with him makes Yuuri feel all warm on the inside, how much _fun_ he’s had the whole day, how good the _food_ tastes, how good the _wine_ tastes.

Being tipsy just makes him more bold, so by the time they finish dinner, Yuuri’s saying some pretty blatant come-ons while Viktor giggles.

They leave the restaurant stumbling and laughing, hand-in-hand. Yuuri’s not sure how it happens, but somehow they decide it’s a good idea to try and walk back to their hotels instead of taking a taxi.

This means they get lost three times, adding another hour to the hour-and-a-half walk back to the area where either of their hotels are.

Yuuri finds that he can’t bring himself to mind at all. In fact, he hopes tonight never ends.

There’s something striking about walking in Barcelona at night like this, the city alive around them, the soft murmur of Viktor’s words in his ear as they walk so close their shoulders bump. Viktor swings their laced fingers a little between them, and the sight of that alone makes Yuuri’s heart swell with an emotion he can’t even begin to name, but knows for sure he never wants to stop feeling for as long as he lives.

Eventually, though, they do reach the crossing where they’re supposed to part ways. Yuuri’s hotel is just the next street down, while Viktor’s is another 15 minute walk.

They slow on the street corner before coming to a stop. Yuuri wants to tighten his grip on Viktor’s hand and make him stay, even though he knows that it had to end eventually.

For a moment, neither of them say anything as they stand facing each other, still holding hands.

“Thank you for today. I had a lot of fun,” Yuuri says after a beat. His brain is going into overdrive trying to think of ways to stall so Viktor doesn’t leave, and the last dregs of alcohol from dinner that’s still in his bloodstream is coming up with some increasingly forward things.

“Me too,” Viktor says. 

 _His smile is so pretty_ , Yuuri thinks. _His whole face is so pretty_.

They’re silent again, which is something Yuuri doesn’t notice until he starts staring at Viktor’s mouth and realises that it’s not moving. He looks back up just in time to see Viktor’s gaze flick down towards his own lips, and that’s all the invitation he needs to step up onto the tips of his toes and kiss Viktor.

Viktor tilts his head to accommodate for the height difference, and for a few moments Yuuri is completely lost in the feeling of Viktor’s soft lips moving against his.

The kiss feels like an amalgamation of all the emotions that have been coursing through Yuuri for the past few days, and all Yuuri wants to do is _drown_ in it.

When they finally break apart, Viktor’s face is flushed and he’s looking at Yuuri in a way that makes his heart trip over itself in his chest.

“Can you—can we—stay with me tonight?” Yuuri manages to get out.

“Yes,” Viktor nods and takes his hand. “Yes, of course.”

They more or less run down the street to Yuuri’s hotel, and Yuuri’s sure it makes them look ridiculous. He’d care more if his heart didn’t feel like it was going to leap out of his chest at any moment. 

They rush through the lobby to the lifts, where Viktor presses the up button three times before one arrives. 

As soon as the doors to the lift close, Yuuri grabs the collar of Viktor’s shirt and tugs him forward so they can kiss again. Viktor backs him into the wall of the lift as Yuuri tangles his fingers into the blond strands of his hair. He’s only slightly sorry about anyone who might’ve wanted to get on the same lift as them.

They stumble out into the hall as soon as the lift doors open on Yuuri’s floor. Thankfully, his room isn’t very far from the lifts, or Yuuri isn’t sure they would have made it. Both of them are mostly sober by now thanks to the two and a half hour walk they took after dinner, but kissing Viktor makes Yuuri feel drunk in a way that no alcohol has made him feel before.

Yuuri swipes blindly behind him with his keycard as Viktor presses him up against the door to his room, and by some miracle manages to get the door open. He yanks Viktor in by his collar and shoves him up against the door as soon as it’s closed.

Viktor’s touch burns where they make contact, and Yuuri wants more of it. He kisses down Viktor’s jaw to his neck, where he can’t help but suck at the skin there. Viktor makes a noise and Yuuri can _feel_ the way it reverberates where their bodies are pressed together.

Yuuri lets his mouth travel down to Viktor’s collarbone, his hands go to take Viktor by the hips. Viktor’s entire body jerk against his, and he makes Yuuri feel so heady it’s almost like he can’t control himself.

“Yuuri,” Viktor gasps, “ _please_.”

And Yuuri should’ve been scared by how much he _wants_ this. He doesn’t think he’s ever wanted someone like this before. He probably would have been scared, if he hadn’t been so distracted by the way Viktor’s fingers clench around his hips, the rabbit-fast pace of Viktor’s pulse against his lips, the taste of Viktor’s skin.

Yuuri exhales shakily before he pulls back to look at Viktor. His heart lodges in his throat when he sees the high flush on Viktor’s cheeks, his hair slightly mussed from Yuuri’s fingers, still breathing heavily.

Yuuri leans forward to capture Viktor’s lips in a quick kiss. 

“Okay,” he whispers against Viktor’s mouth. He takes his hand off where it’d been resting on Viktor’s waist and lets it drop down to finger the clasp of Viktor’s trousers.

Viktor lets out a breath and tips his head back, hitting the wood of the door. 

“Okay,” Yuuri says into the skin of Viktor’s neck.

  


(The next morning, Yuuri wakes up to the smell of coffee and opens his eyes to find Viktor standing by the coffee machine in his underwear.

When Viktor sees that he’s awake he smiles in a way that tugs at something in Yuuri’s chest. Before he can sit up, Viktor walks over and plants a kiss on his forehead.

“Good morning,” Viktor says, still smiling. “I made coffee.”

And there’s that emotion again, warm and weightless and giddy and so strong that Yuuri almost feels overwhelmed.

This time, he thinks he might have found a name for this feeling.)

  


Yuuri studies Viktor through the camera lens on the glass balcony of Viktor’s 4-star hotel room.

A breeze tousles Viktor’s artfully arranged hair. Yuuri sees Viktor raise a hand to card through the strands.

Yuuri presses the shutter button just as Viktor casts a glance over his shoulder to where Yuuri’s standing.

They’re both smiling when he lowers the camera. Yuuri walks forward so that he’s standing beside Viktor leaning against the balcony railings. Yuuri holds the camera out to Viktor.

“I never really thought I’d enjoy getting photographed.” Viktor laughs softly as he turns the camera over in his hands. “Well, maybe when I was fifteen. It got old pretty quickly after that.”

Yuuri’s silent for a moment before he replies to that. It’s not the first time Viktor has said something cryptic like this, and he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t curious.

“Do you get photographed often?” he asks.

Viktor shrugs. “It’s occupational. It’s not even that I really dislike it, because I do like the media. And most of the time they’re respectable about it.”

Here, Viktor pauses. Yuuri doesn’t speak up, just waits for him to go on.

“I guess my main problem with it is how fabricated everything is. Not just the photographers, but all of it. The interviews, the press conferences, all of that. And I get that the whole industry is hinged on appearances and performances, so I can’t even bring myself to really resent it.” 

Viktor meets his gaze, and Yuuri’s surprised at the rawness in his face. Yuuri gets the feeling that Viktor doesn’t share this information very often, and finds himself treasuring the open admission.

Viktor’s gaze drops to where their arms are leaning against the balcony railing. His next words are so quiet that they almost get lost in the wind. “But it starts to get so lonely, when all everyone ever sees is the fabricated you.”

Something protective suddenly swells in the pit of his stomach, and Yuuri doesn’t fight the urge to throw himself into Viktor’s arms. 

Viktor melts immediately into the embrace. For a moment, they just stand and hold each other.

Anywhere from seconds to hours might’ve passed before Yuuri eventually speaks up.

“You put into words what I’ve been struggling with in my photography. Shooting got tedious when everything was so staged. I’ve always wanted to portray stories and emotions through my photos, capture humanity in action. I guess you could say that was my vision. But how could I achieve that when all I’m taking pictures of are celebrities posing on the red carpet? Some other photographers I’ve met think I’m crazy for thinking like this. A paycheque is a paycheque, right?” Yuuri sighs and buries his face deeper into the crook of Viktor’s shoulder.

“I didn’t know if choosing to walk away from this job is the right decision, which is why I’m in Barcelona instead of sorting out my life right now,” he continues. Yuuri feels one of Viktor’s hands run rhythmically up and down his back, and it’s surprising how much that gesture puts him at ease.  “I just want you to know, maybe I won’t ever truly understand what it’s like being in your situation, but I _get_ what it feels like to feel trapped by the fabricated media. We can be trapped together.”

Yuuri can feel his cheeks burn from his words, but can’t bring himself to regret it at all when he feels the way Viktor’s breath hitches before his hold around Yuuri’s waist tightens impossibly. Viktor pulls back a second later, and the look on his face is so honest that Yuuri doesn’t have any trouble reading the emotions on display.

“Yuuri, I—” Viktor starts, sounding choked. He doesn’t finish the sentence. Yuuri reaches up to cup Viktor’s cheek in his palm, and Viktor leans into the touch.

“Thank you,” Viktor says instead. His words are soft, but Yuuri hears them loud and clear. “You’re amazing, Yuuri.”

At that, Yuuri snorts a laugh, and brings his head to rest against Viktor’s shoulder once more. “I don’t know about that. But you are too.”

Viktor laughs quietly and brings his arms back around so they’re hugging again. Yuuri relaxes into the hold, and for a moment just breathes in Viktor’s scent and feels the way his chest moves with every breath Viktor takes.

A thought suddenly occurs to him, and Yuuri finds himself asking, “You’re not some secret celebrity, are you?”

Viktor chuckles, a deep rumble in his chest. “Nothing of the sort. I just figure skate.”

Yuuri is surprised. Neither of them talk much about their professional lives, and everything Yuuri knew about Viktor’s job up until this moment had only been in vague references.

It’s a demonstration of trust. And throughout all the years of Yuuri’s life, never has a demonstration of trust made him feel like this.

“You’re an athlete? Should I be asking for your autograph? Maybe I can sell it for a good price online,” Yuuri teases.

“I can’t believe this whole time you’ve been getting close to me for my fame that you didn’t even know about until just now.”

“You got me,” Yuuri smiles into the fabric of Viktor’s shirt, “it’s all been a ruse. Maybe I’ll steal your underwear tonight, too. I’m sure your very niche fans will pay a good sum for it.”

“Treason, of the highest kind,” Viktor replies with mock seriousness.

“I’m just joking,” Yuuri says, as if they both didn’t already know that. Then he puts his lips right beside Viktor’s ear and whispers, “I wouldn’t want to share you with anyone.”

Yuuri doesn’t even have time to feel embarrassed about the things coming out of his mouth before Viktor shouts, _“Yuuri!”_ And suddenly he’s being lifted by his waist and twirled haphazardly around the balcony.

Viktor is laughing, and that makes it impossible for Yuuri to rein in his own gasping laughter as they engage in this very silly and probably dangerous act.

Here, on top of the world above the city of Barcelona, time ceases to exist.

  


Yuuri’s remaining time in Barcelona passes in a dream-like haze.

He spends the days trying out new foods, going to new places, taking new pictures, all with Viktor. Sometimes they stroll down La Rambla, because they both have a soft spot for that street. Other times they don’t go out at all, instead of staying in one of their hotel rooms, tangled up in the sheets and in each other.

(On one of their nights out, they decide to go clubbing again. This time, there’s a lot less alcohol involved, and they spend the night dancing with each other and laughing and committing the feeling to memory.)

On Yuuri’s third last day in Barcelona, they go to the beach. Strangely, it’s a place they haven’t been to on their tourist quest.

“The ocean and seagulls remind me of home,” Viktor says as they sit together on the sand.

“Me too,” Yuuri says. “There’s a really nice beach in Hasetsu where I grew up. I remember my friends and I used to go there to play in the water when we were younger.”

“That must’ve been nice. You can’t swim in the ocean or rivers in Saint Petersburg,” Viktor replies.

Yuuri tears his gaze from Viktor’s face to the ocean. Although it’s April, it’s a warm day out here in Barcelona.

“We could do it now,” he says.

“Do what?” asks Viktor.

“Swim in the ocean. Or not swim, I guess, maybe splash around,” Yuuri says.

The look Viktor sends him is bewildered. “But I don’t have my swimsuit.”

Yuuri looks over the outfit Viktor is wearing. He’s not particularly knowledgeable about fashion, but it’s not hard to see that everything Viktor has is brand name.

Yuuri looks back at Viktor’s face. He smiles. “So?”

There’s a moment where Viktor doesn’t do anything except stare back at Yuuri. After a while, Viktor looks down at himself, no doubt wondering how much money his ensemble costs and how much damage the seawater would do to it. Then, to Yuuri’s surprise, Viktor starts laughing.

“Okay,” Viktor says to him. “Let’s go.”

They spend the next few hours chasing each other through the waves and getting drenched. At some point, they bring the disposable cameras out, none of which end up in the sea by sheer miracle.

They end up kissing in the sand. The sand gets everywhere, and the seawater is definitely making him cold, but Viktor’s hands are cradling his face and there are water droplets caught in Viktor’s eyelashes that sparkle when they catch the sunlight.

  


(It hits him, that day at the beach.

Yuuri’s never wanted something for forever before.

It’s _terrifying_.)

  
  
  


(It’s wishful thinking.)

  
  
  


Yuuri wakes up on his last day in Barcelona with a singular objective in mind.

Viktor is still asleep, which is a rare occurrence that Yuuri is grateful for this morning. He carefully slips out from Viktor’s hold and pads across the room to get his laptop. He settles down at the desk and opens the laptop to access a word processor.

Yuuri names the document **LETTER OF RESIGNATION** and starts typing.

He finishes and saves the document before Viktor wakes up. He makes coffee then, and finishes that before Viktor is awake, too. He’s making a second cup the way Viktor likes it when Viktor finally stirs.

“Good morning,” Yuuri says when he sees Viktor’s eyes open.

Viktor smiles and climbs out of bed to kiss Yuuri on the cheek. Yuuri hands him his coffee and receives an emphatic _“Thank you, sweetheart!”_ in return.

It makes Yuuri feel worse about what’s to come.

He clears his throat. “Viktor, can we talk?”

Viktor briefly looks surprised, but recovers quickly and sits down on the edge of the bed. “Sure. What about?”

Yuuri decides to cut to the chase. “I’m leaving tomorrow.”

Viktor lowers his mug from his face. “Ah. Well, I’ve thought about it a little. The time difference between London and Saint Petersburg is only two hours, so it won’t be too hard to—”

“No,” Yuuri cuts in, and winces at how harsh it sounded. Viktor looks shocked at his outburst, as well as a little confused. Yuuri looks away. “Sorry, what I meant to say was that I don’t think we should keep in contact after we separate.”

_“What?”_

The silence that follows is deafening.

“I—I just, you know, it’s impractical. Nobody wants to do long distance, it’s so much trouble, right?” Yuuri eventually says. He tries to keep his voice even, but Yuuri doesn’t know if he succeeds.

“What are you talking about?” Viktor’s voice cracks on the last syllable, and that’s when Yuuri realises he’s _crying_.

Everything that Yuuri had been preparing to say slips from his brain like water between his fingers. Of all the reactions he’d been anticipating, this one hadn’t even been in the scope of it.

“Come on, Viktor. You have to know they never work out,” Yuuri says. This time, he knows for sure that it came out shaky.

“How can you say that to me?” Viktor whispers, but it’s loud and clear to Yuuri’s ears. “Didn’t you say you understood?”

When Yuuri doesn’t say anything, Viktor brings his hand up to his mouth and muffles a sob.

“You said—” Viktor gets out, “—you said, ‘ _I’m here_.’”

It’s four words. It’s four words and it’s a sentence that makes zero sense out of context but somehow it cuts Yuuri deeper than anything else he’s ever heard. For the first time this morning, Yuuri second guesses himself.

“We have to be reasonable,” Yuuri says, but he’s aware that it comes out rather weak. “We’ve only known each other for a short time. It’s not advisable to get into a relationship with someone you met on a holiday in another country.”

“No, don’t give me that bullshit!” Viktor stands up. The forgotten coffee mug spills onto the hotel carpet. Neither of them pay attention to it.

There’s anger in Viktor’s voice now. Yuuri can see Viktor’s hands shaking from where they’re clenched at his sides. He’s still crying, but that’s probably from anger, too.

“What’s the _real_ reason you don’t want to keep in contact?” 

Silence, again. This time, it’s because Yuuri feels like he’s forgotten how words work.

Viktor’s eyes are blue and icy, and there are a million thoughts and emotions swirling in them. Yuuri lets out a breath.

“I’m planning to quit my job. This trip has made me realise how much better off I would be if I just resigned, and I don’t think I can juggle whatever this is—” here, Yuuri gestures between them, “—with what’s going on in my professional life. Photography will always take priority over any personal relationships.”

Viktor has an expression like he just got slapped. It’s gone in a moment, replaced with a strangely neutral expression that Yuuri isn’t used to seeing.

“That’s the real reason you don’t want to continue this after tomorrow?” Viktor asks, voice steady.

Slowly, very slowly, Yuuri nods. 

“If that’s the case,” Viktor says, “then I respect your decision.”

And that’s that, apparently. The coffee mug lies on its side on the floor, the coffee having seeped into the carpet.

And Yuuri got what he wanted, didn’t he?

“I—Thank you,” Yuuri chokes out.

Viktor doesn’t reply.

“Can I—Can I hug you?” Yuuri asks next, and manages to surprise himself with the question.

Yuuri’s almost afraid that Viktor will say no, but it doesn’t happen. Instead, Viktor simply exhales loudly and holds out his arms.

When Yuuri collapses in Viktor’s embrace, that’s almost enough to make him regret the whole conversation. Despite what just transpired between them, Viktor still holds him like he’s someone worth holding on to, like he’s someone that will still mean something to Viktor ten or twenty years down the road.

 _This is what you’re giving up,_ some part of him says.

 _No,_ says the other, stronger part of him. _This is what you’re saving yourself from_.

  


The rest of that day passes in somewhat of a limbo.

The air is still somewhat strained between them, but things more or less return to a normal afternoon. Well, as normal as the last afternoon can get. 

Having tea in the café by the lobby of the hotel instead of going out like they usually would. Lying together in bed and doing nothing but holding each other. The overnight bag Viktor brought from his own room, all packed save for the few things he’ll need to get ready the next morning. Yuuri’s own suitcase in a similar state.

The way Viktor presses him into the mattress at night, fingertips digging into Yuuri’s thighs so hard it’s sure to leave a bruise. The way Yuuri sighs out Viktor’s name in return, deafeningly loud in the silence of their one-bedroom world. All of this has a sense of finality that churns Yuuri’s stomach at the same time it eases his ailing nerves.

In the morning, they get up and get ready in silence. They don’t speak at all as they dress or pack or eat breakfast together in that café in the lobby, and the taxi ride to the airport is passed in silence as well.

It’s at the terminal, where they have to separate, that Yuuri finally speaks up.

“I want to give you something,” Yuuri says quietly. Viktor doesn’t visibly react, but Yuuri can feel his gaze boring into him.

He reaches into a pocket on his carry-on and pulls out a disposable camera. Viktor’s staring at it with a complicated expression, and Yuuri presses it into his hand.

“It’s the first one you bought me,” Yuuri continues, and he realises that his voice is just barely shaking. “The photos in there are from the time we went to the amusement park. I just wanted you to have it, to—to thank you, for everything you’ve done, and something to maybe remember this holiday by. I—um, I hope you like my photos, I know you didn’t get to see any even though you wanted to, so you can go home and develop them and hopefully I won't let you down—”

He’s cut off with a fierce hug, which surprises him but it’s only a second before he’s wrapping his arms around Viktor just as tightly. He buries his face in Viktor’s shoulder and wishes that he could capture this moment in time, too.

“ _Yuuri—_ ” Viktor breathes, “ _don’t go_.”

The funny part is that Yuuri seriously considers it. Seriously thinks about throwing away his life, his decisions, everything he’s ever worked for to stay here in Barcelona with Viktor, just because he asked.

But he’s the one who decided to end this, so he’s not allowed to think like that.

“I’m sorry,” Yuuri whispers.

Viktor’s shaking. Yuuri only notices just now, and can’t help the burst of surprise that goes through him.

“Hey, hey,” Yuuri says, and Viktor pulls back to look at him.

Yuuri places a hand on Viktor’s cheek and draws him in for a kiss.

(It tastes like goodbye.)

When they part, it takes Yuuri several moments to open his eyes.

“Have a safe flight,” Viktor says. He smiles, but it’s small.

“Thank you,” Yuuri replies. They’re still standing with their arms around each other. Yuuri doesn’t want to let go, but he doesn’t know if he can afford to keep holding on.

So he forces himself to let go and take a step back. Viktor's eyes are suspiciously wet.

“Goodbye, Viktor,” Yuuri says, so low it’s almost a whisper.

“Goodbye, Yuuri,” Viktor says back, just as softly.

Yuuri takes several steps backwards before turning away towards customs. He resolutely puts one foot in front of the other and does not stray from his path.

He doesn’t look back.

**Author's Note:**

> disclaimer: i tried to do research the best i could, but i have never been to spain nor do i actually know anything about photography so apologies if that shows


End file.
